


who wouldn't rachmaninOFF

by vandoorne



Category: twoset violin
Genre: Dirty Talk, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:21:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28343826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vandoorne/pseuds/vandoorne
Summary: eddy: vais-je avoir un orgasme? (will i have an orgasm?)brett: oui, oui~ (yes, yes~)
Relationships: Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Comments: 10
Kudos: 57
Collections: WIP OLYMPICS: WINTER 2020/21





	who wouldn't rachmaninOFF

**Author's Note:**

> because [this](https://youtu.be/RXPOPgszgio?t=117) happened.

It doesn't occur to Eddy until much, much later, when they're done filming their video, that Brett had actually answered his question. The question being, well, in French that he had butchered despite his attempts to get it right, _will I have an orgasm_ and Brett had, indeed, answered yes. _Yes_. Twice, in fact.

Eddy swallows hard, pausing in his tracks. It's definitely not an answer to his question, most certainly not. It's just Brett saying the wee bit of French that he can muster up, right? After all, it's just _oui, oui_. Wait, no, he had sung the two words. Yeah, okay, no no no no no. Eddy's definitely overthinking this, Brett hadn't answered his question at all, it's just him trying to forcefully fit the puzzle pieces together. That's the only logical explanation to all this. Plus there's how hot it is in the room — the heat's getting to him as well. Eddy closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and opens his eyes again. Time to continue packing up, and maybe when he's in the peace and quiet of the bathroom later on, when he's showering, he could possibly... Rachmanin- _off_.

Oh, fuck.

'You're thinking of something,' Brett says.

Eddy doesn't look up, nor does he turn around. How could he anyway, when he had resolved to stop thinking about Brett's response during filming, and in a brilliant turn of events, his treacherous mind had decided to present him with possible thoughts he could be having during his alone time in the bathroom? 'Thinking of what we just filmed,' he responds, careful not to look at Brett. Of course he's not going to turn around. If he does, Brett's going to be able to see the flush of his cheeks and how it's spreading to his ears and neck and he doesn't even trust the current expression he has on.

'Care to elaborate?'

Wait a minute, is Brett standing directly _behind_ him? Eddy whirls around and comes face to face with Brett, who's staring at him with a curious sort of expression on his face.

'It's nothing really,' Eddy answers, laughing nervously. Now would be a good time to back away, he thinks. Back away, back far far away. Clear his mind of all the inappropriate thoughts that had started to flood his mind when he had thought of, fuck, jerking off in the bathroom.

_Brett, with those red lips parted, on his knees perhaps, looking up at him with his glasses sliding down his nose. His eyes wide and glittering, a slow upward quirk of his lips as he _leans in_ —_

It's not working. Nothing is working. Eddy's shirt isn't even long enough to hide the erection that he's having now that his brain decided to betray him and run wild, thinking of things that he most definitely shouldn't have been thinking of Brett, especially when Brett is closing in on him, deliberately backing him up to the wall. ' _Whatareyoudoing_.' The words come out in a rush, he's so fucking nervous he can hear the gradual crescendo of his heartbeat in his ears.

Brett's looking at Eddy with _that_ look in his eyes. The look that says that he knows something is up, it's most likely that he's already seen through whatever it is about Eddy and fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck_. What if Brett already _knows_ just what Eddy had been thinking of? No, wait, it's not as if Brett can read his mind, right? And besides, fuck, Eddy thinks of all the times he's been around Brett, and when he's had to uh, take care of his needs, with Brett around... He's been quiet, he's made sure that he hasn't made any incriminating noises that would identify the main lead of his sexual fantasies as Brett, so there's no way that Brett would know, right?

'You're thinking about what we just filmed,' Brett says, eyes narrowing. He reaches out, placing a hand on Eddy's shoulder, and Eddy jumps, feeling the heat from Brett's palm. It's almost as if it's a brand, leaving an indelible mark on Eddy's skin. 'Thinking about a specific moment.'

'Am I?' Eddy asks, voice coming out much higher than he had intended it to. Fuck, at this rate he's going to give it all away. Brett would definitely know that something is up now, and it wouldn't just be how suspicious Eddy's behaviour is right now.

'You're thinking about how I answered _oui oui_ when you asked _will I have an orgasm_ , aren't you?'

'How did you know?' The words are out of Eddy's mouth before he's even able to stop them. Fuck, so much for trying to keep all of this a secret. Good job, Eddy Chen! Well done! Fan-fucking-tastic!

'Had a feeling,' Brett says, smirk evident on his lips. 'Were you going to Rachmanin-off after this then?'

Eddy groans. He had cringed earlier, when Brett had made the awful pun, but hearing it clearly directed at him now? Fuck.

'That means the answer's a yes then? Or as they say in French, oui?' Brett continues, struggling to keep a straight face.

'Oh god,' Eddy answers. Brett did _not_ just say that.

'Care to show me just how?'

This is how Eddy ends up with his trousers and underwear pulled down to mid-thigh, backed up against the wall of the room they use for filming Twoset Violin episodes. Fuck, he's never going to be able to see his room in the same light ever again. The door's locked, it's just the two of them here but it feels wrong, as if they're doing this someplace way too public and that they might be caught at any time and they'd be so, so screwed.

There's a small voice in Eddy's head that says that well, the idea of how there's a possibility of being caught is precisely what adds to the thrill, and it's soft and dangerous and Eddy pushes it down, trying to concentrate on the matter at hand. Said matter being how, well, Brett is asking Eddy to demonstrate just how he, uh, Rachmanin-offs. What the actual fuck.

So here Eddy is, touching himself, feeling the intensity of Brett's gaze on him as he does so. This isn't like a regular session where he's just chasing his release, there's something about this that feels a bit like it's a performance and it's the strangest sensation. Brett is watching him, watching his every movement. He can hear every sound he makes, the soft mewl that he fights so hard to tamper down, the moan that inevitably escapes his lips and fuck, his sharp intake of breath when Brett closes his hand around his own.

' _Brett_ ,' Eddy groans. It's a sound of pleasure and protest, because what the fuck is Brett doing anyway?

'You asked if you would have an orgasm, didn't you?' Brett asks. It's still that quiet voice of his, but there's something behind it, a darker edge, and it sends shivers down Eddy's spine. 'And I answered yes. Would I have answered it if I hadn't intended to give you an orgasm?'

'How would I know,' Eddy gasps. Fuck, he isn't even sure what the hell is going on now. Is he jerking off, while Brett's hand covers his own? Or is Brett jerking him off, guiding his hand, teaching him just what to do? Is this what Brett does then, is this how Brett strokes his cock? But most importantly, just what is it that Brett thinks of as he touches himself — is it Eddy then, Eddy spread out beneath him, ready for the taking? Eddy lying in between Brett's legs, hands on his thighs, lapping at his cock? Or is it Eddy seated on his bed, with Brett in his lap, slowly sinking down on Eddy's cock? Eddy squeezes his eyes shut, letting out a shaky exhale. Fuck, fuck fuck _fuck_. This, everything, it's all too much, too overwhelming. Brett's too close, far too close, the heat of the room is unbearable and oh, fucking hell.

'Now you know,' Brett answers. He makes a noise of disapproval, squeezing his hand around Eddy's, causing Eddy to cry out. 'Look at me, Eddy.'

It's not a suggestion, but an order. Eddy's eyes widen as he obeys automatically. Fuck, what the fuck was that? There had been something incredibly arousing about Brett's tone of voice and just. Oh god. Brett's hand guides his movements, and all Eddy can do is to just lean back against the wall and _let him_.

'Is this the only thing that you do when you Rachmanin-off?' Brett asks. Fuck, is he still going with that awful pun? 'Do you finger yourself, Eddy? Or have you never tried?'

' _Fuck_.' It's all Eddy can manage, now that things have come to this. Never did he ever imagine that he would end up in this position, with Brett Yang, of all people, asking him just how he got off in private. Fuck, of course he fingers himself. He thinks of all those ridiculous fingering jokes that musicians make and well, they're not wrong. He does, from time to time, end up on his bed, thighs splayed as he fucks himself with his fingers, imagining it was Brett's fingers instead, or maybe Brett's cock, even. It's not as if he's going to admit this to Brett now though, and he bites hard on his lower lip, trying to choke back yet another cry of pleasure.

'Would you like that?' Brett asks. His movements are torturously slow now, and as much as Eddy would like him to move faster, there's nothing he can do when Brett's maintaining such a grip on his hand. Fuck. 'Or would you like me to finger you instead?'

That's all it takes, really. Eddy's yelling as he comes, spilling all over Brett's hand, and Brett tiptoes and kisses Eddy, pulling him in by his neck with his other hand to silence him. Fuck, all those times in which Eddy had spent staring at Brett's hands while he practised and he had imagined... All this time, Brett had _known_. Fuck.

Brett pulls away moments later, panting. His glasses are askew, and his lips are oh so red. 'That was loud,' he says, adjusting his glasses.

'Sorry,' Eddy answers, looking down, deliberately avoiding Brett's gaze. First the handjob, and now the kiss. What the fuck? But oh, there's... Eddy blinks, and the realisation of just what exactly he's looking at sinks in.

Brett's hard. And it's all because of Eddy.

 _Fuck_.

'Do you need me to, uh,' Eddy begins, eyes not leaving Brett's clothed erection. 'Help you Rachmanin-off too?'

This time, Brett's cheeks colour. 'After we finish packing up,' he says. 'It's far too hot in here.'

After this, huh. Eddy rights his clothing, thinking of the kiss that they had just shared. 'Can't wait,' he says, blushing furiously, and Brett snorts in reply.

**Author's Note:**

> let's be [friends](https://www.twitter.com/_vandoorne)? ;;;;;;;;;


End file.
